


often have you heard it told

by Anonymous



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Chris Evans- Fandom, Late Night Host RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You're Pete Davidson's last-minute plus one to a celebrity dinner party when you catch the eye of Chris Evans. Little does he know that you're already in a bit of a tangled situation.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You, John Mulaney/Reader, John Mulaney/You, Pete Davidson & John Mulaney
Comments: 80
Kudos: 133
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

When he sees you, his first thought is, _Whoa_.

So it’s not the most articulate thought but frankly, he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him and is too breathless to utter more than a gasp. Thankfully, he manages to swallow it away before any of the other party guests could notice.

On the other side of table, oblivious as ever to your effect, you’re stifling a laugh at whatever joke Pete Davidson just whispered into your ear.

His practiced eye doesn’t miss how Pete has leaned in closer than what was necessary, barely avoiding making skin contact with your earlobe and suddenly he’s seized with a great longing to wrap his hands around Pete Davidson’s throat- but he’s captivated again. As you were you’re plenty distracting, but your smile is _stunning_. You bare your teeth widely, the dimples on the apples of your cheeks becoming more apparent as your lips spread outward.

He catches himself- reminds himself of the company he’s in- and with great difficulty, tears his eyes away from you.

The woman that the host couple had selected for their guest-of-honor to pair with is just- there was no other word to describe her- perfect. Ethereally lovely and good-humored and educated, but so kind and charming that it wasn’t even possible to dislike her for it. She held the entire table in her thrall, dominating the conversation since the moment she’d arrived.

You could hardly get a word in, and after not making much effort you gave up on trying. Truly, you didn’t mind. After the compulsory introductions had been made, you were more than content to sit back quietly and listen in on the conversations around you. You’re also seated between Scarlett Johansson and Pete Davidson, so it was only too easy to blend into the background. 

Across from you sat Cobie Smulders, whose face was buried in her iPhone. You were actually on friendly terms with Cobie, having met her due to previously working with her husband Taran Killam on _Saturday Night Live_. But the Canadian brunette was totally occupied, speaking in urgent, hushed tones with her husband, who was sitting on her left. From what you could make out, Cobie was worrying about leaving their toddler daughter, recovering from a cold, home with the sitter.

“I’m soooo sorry to hear that your daughter’s still not feeling well,” the Goddess (she was a well-known model and lifestyle blogger, but there was really no better way to describe her) crooned to Cobie and Taran. “I have an excellent home remedy for colds…”

You’re certain Cobie would have much rather gone home than hear about some homeopath cough syrup, but fat chance that Scarlett would allow an uneven number of guests at her dinner party. Between _Saturday Night Live_ and _Late Night_ you’d met Colin’s fiancee several times now- she was a visitor in the studio so often that being starstruck by the world-famous actor had worn off very quickly for you. Scarlett was nice enough, but had a theater kid’s enthusiasm for Emily Post. It was the only reason for your dinner invitation, courtesy of Pete Davidson.

You had been in the writer’s room in 8G only hours earlier when Pete and John Mulaney had walked in. “What about… her? Hey you, Baggy Sweater.” You had raised a wary eye. John had looked mischievous, Pete even more so. “Pete needs a date.”

“I don’t know if my star profile is high enough to qualify,” you’d countered dryly, not looking up from your keyboard. 

“Chill I’m not asking for more than a handy as a thank you. Jost is nagging at me about how he ‘needs an even number for dinner,’” Pete explained, mimicking Colin’s deeper voice and rolling his eyes. “By the way, it’s tonight so you need to take care of this-” he gestured at your sweater and jeans- “pretty soon. You down?”

Unimpressed, you had tried to wave off the pair, but both men had planted themselves on your desk and would not budge. You didn’t have dinner plans, and Pete and John wouldn’t leave you alone, so a borrowed dress from Amber Ruffin’s locker later it was Colin and Scarlett, you and Pete, John and his wife, Cobie and Taran, the Goddess, and then at the end of the table there was Captain fucking America himself, grinning boyishly at the Goddess decrying the lack of non-GMO foods in award shows.

Out of the group you were really only friendly with Pete and John, but the former has seemingly abandoned you for the Goddess- despite Scarlett’s disapproving looks, he seemed determined to compete with Captain America for her SnapChat- and the latter was trading writing tips with Colin. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and seeing that everyone is still absorbed with the Goddess’s hiking story, you take the chance to look down.

_Let me come over later._

You frown and rapidly text back. _Not a good night._

His reply comes in seconds. _I disagree._ Scarlett’s daggers are on you now and you hastily pocket your phone.

For some reason, the Goddess decides to turn her attention to you next. “You’ve been _soooo_ quiet. Tell me, how long have you and Pete been together? How did you meet?”

Unable to help yourself you snort loudly at her questions. “Oh no, no, no, no.” You shake your head.

“Damn, was that many nos necessary? I’m almost offended here.” Pete cracked, and nearly everyone busts out laughing. You notice a relieved glint in the Goddess’s eye, and her chair moves just a little bit closer to Pete’s.

“She used to work with us on _SNL_ ,” Colin explains. 

“Are you a comedian? I wouldn’t know, I don’t watch television.”

Scarlett doesn’t bother to hide her eye-roll at the comment. You explain anyway. “I’m just a paper pusher. I was on _SNL_ for a bit as an intern, but Seth Meyers recruited me for _Late Night_ when he took over. Pete and I met because we joined SNL at around the same time, but I could never perform like they all do.”

“What do you mean? You’re so beautiful, I don’t see why they wouldn’t put you on the screen!”

“Yeah, you are.” Your head turns to face Chris Evans for the first time, surprised he’s addressing you. “Beautiful,” he adds, his eyes appraising you as if he was just seeing you for the first time and you hadn’t been just a few place settings away all evening.

“Well…” Nervously now, you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Looks don’t matter to Lorne Michaels as much as comedic timing and that I don’t have.”

You had seen how rapidly Scarlett’s narrowed eyes flitted between you and Chris, and are not surprised when you find yourself sitting next to him in her and Colin’s den after dinner for coffee. Pete and the Goddess are in the adjoining sofa with the Mulaneys. Cobie and Taran had made their apologies and left right after they stood from the table, claiming their babysitter texted them their daughter’s temperature was still high.

Colin was just half-heartedly starting a game of charades when Chris’s knee bumps yours accidentally. “Sorry,” he grins. You return the smile shyly, lips pressed tightly together. You’re not half as close to him as Pete was to the Goddess- with that pair you couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended- but Chris was near enough that if you didn’t sit completely still, your arm might brush his accidentally and damn it all, you were jittery enough without having to deal with all of that. Chris appears to be paying close attention to the game, but his head leans closer, the scent of his aftershave invading your senses. His voice low, he asks, “So, how did you get roped into all this?”

“I think it’s a punishment for working late.” You explain how Pete and John had found you in the office earlier and wouldn’t give up until you agreed to come with them.

“I think she’s omitting a certain part of the story,” Pete says loudly. The man had the ears of a bat.

“Oh no, don’t you-” Your protests are ignored. Pete turns to John. 

“John, would you care to share how we persuaded Miss Thang here to accept my kind and generous offer to accompany me to this lovely dinner party?”

“Why yes I would Peter.” To everyone else’s bemusement, John adopts his booming, theatrical stage voice while you try not to bury your face in your hands. “I believe we agreed to exchange a certain man’s phone number for her acquiescence into attending this lovely dinner party.”

“Oh yeah?” Bemused, Chris turns to you. “Who?”

You’re certain your face was puce at this point. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. You hardly knew most of these people, there was no way in hell you would tell them- “Bill,” you squeak, cracking in no time at all under the multiple pairs of unrelenting stares.

“Which Bill?” Even Scarlett is curious.

“Skarsgård?” The guess is from the Goddess.

“Maher!”

John’s wife shakes her head. “No it’s a number they would have.”

“Hader?” Colin is less tense now that Scarlett was winding down and the evening was nearly over, and he starts laughing first. “No wonder you kept hovering in the studio when he hosted.”

“Yeah, she was thirsting all over his junk,” Pete said, nodding his head. 

“But alas, Bill did not succumb to her feminine wiles,” John added in an exaggerated mournful tone.

“Strong man,” Chris says, sharing a side glance with you.

You are eternally grateful when the Goddess changes the topic to her efforts in convincing the set of her next photoshoot to make the catering plant-based and the virtues of composting, but Scarlett had clearly had enough of her and implies they should start breaking up for the night.

Pete and the Goddess leave first, hands already linked. You don’t know how Pete manages it, but the Goddess seems completely hooked.

John and his wife are next. John stops you briefly, pulling out his phone as you’re pulling on your coat. “A deal’s a deal. You really want Bill’s number?” he asks you. 

“Uhh-” Chris’s eyes catches yours, awaiting for your response. “How about… you ask him first if he’s okay with me having his number? I mean, it would be really strange if I just texted him out of the blue, y’know?”

John tut-tuts at your lame request. “Okay,” he shrugs, before departing also.

Without asking, Chris helps you with your coat. “Evans, why don’t you be a gentleman and drive the lady home,” Scarlett suggests. A knowing look passes between the two old friends.

“Yes, I think that’s a great idea. Can’t let you walk home by yourself this late,” Chris talks down your protests.

“I was just planning on walking, I’m just twenty minutes away- trust me, it’s less of a bother than driving.” You hold your hand out to him. “It really was great meeting you though.”

“No- unless you want me to hold your hand, and frankly I think it’s too early stages to be holding hands. I’m driving you.”

You will yourself not to blush. “I would really prefer to walk. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Then I guess I’m walking with you.”

“Your car’s here!”

“So I’ll take a Lyft back.”

“That’s ridiculous! You’re really going to walk me home and Lyft back to your car? That’s such a waste of money. Also, you so did not bring the right jacket for this.”

“I’m not trying to brag, but I assure you I can afford a Lyft. Also, my beard keeps me warm.” He pats it in good humor. “You’re not going to win this argument. Just start walking.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.” It comes out in a whisper, but it’s out and you stare at Chris defiantly.

“Well damn, never mind, let me just go to my car instead then- come on woman. It’s freezing out here.” He begins heading east on 8th Avenue, and you have to jog to catch up to him and tell him you’re going in the other direction.

You’ve been walking for a few minutes. “So you were serious when you said you weren’t going to sleep with me? Joking!” Chris holds his palms up in defense when he catches the expression on your face.

You grimace, thinking of how to explain. “I’m trying not to do that anymore. Not that I’m against people who do,” you add quickly. “I’m just… trying to do the old-fashioned thing…” your voice trails.

Chris’s lip perks up. “What do you mean by the old-fashioned thing?”

“It’s a long story but…” You had no idea how you ended up in this situation, explaining your dating preferences to an A-List celebrity. “Well, not too long ago I was seeing someone who was less than ideal and someone else kindly advised it wasn’t a good idea to see them so… casually- and after some reflection, I decided they were probably right and ended it. So with that in mind, I just don’t think I’d like myself as much if I sleep with you tonight.”

“Sucks for you. I’m really good at it.” Chris is able to maintain the straight face for only a few seconds before you both erupt into giggles. “Tell me about what you do- Instagram blogger talked too much back there.”

He seems genuinely interested, so you tell him about how you’d been a journalism student and was hired on as an intern for NBC during your senior year at college before getting your break as a production assistant at SNL- then scrubbing out and being demoted back to the office and being offered a financial office role at Late Night. “I’d ask you how your career got started, but…”

You stop at the door to your building. “So,” you start, just as Chris says, “So,” You both stop, and smile.

“Thanks for walking with me?”

“Yeah, it’s my pleasure…” He looks up at your building, not moving from where he stood. “Interesting looking building.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really, because this is likely the least interesting building in the entire block. Edgar Allan Poe supposedly took a piss in the alley across the street.”

“No, I think your building is the most interesting. I’d love to see it from the inside.” Chris’s voice almost gives way to laughter. “You should make me a cup of coffee while I take my time inspecting the architecture. Maybe I could even see it from your apartment for instance.”

“Nice try.”

“Can’t blame a man for giving it his all. It’s not any woman who can outshine Scarlett and what’s-her-face, for that matter.” At your blank expression, his tone is almost scolding. “Jesus, you don’t know what effect you have on people, do you?”

You stop smiling. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let me be clear then.” Chris moves ever so slightly closer to you, so you had no option but to look up at him. You had to admit, it was a hot move. “You’ve probably heard this a million times before, but I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. When I saw you for the first time tonight, Scarlett had to kick me under the table to keep me from gawking at you. Really!” He insists when he sees the doubt in your face. “You already said no, but at least give me your number so I can try again next time I’m in town.” 

You hand your phone to Chris to let him add his contact. He feigns returning it to you before asking, “Are you sure I can’t use your bathroom?”

You smile. “I’m sure.”

He sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll accept that for now.” Instead of dropping your phone in your hand like you expect, he takes hold of your fingers and draws them closer, bowing his head to your knuckles. “My lady,” he says dramatically, pressing his lips to the back of your hand.

“My lord.” 

Neither of you notice the teenager with the iPhone nearby, clicking away with his camera.

You wave good night at him as you enter your building and step into the elevator, opening the Messages app on your phone and gleefully looking at the text he’d sent to himself from your number.

It wasn’t such a bad night after all.

You’re rummaging through your bag for your keys when you step out of the elevator, missing the man waiting at your apartment door until you just run into him. His hands are automatically at your shoulders, steadying you.

You look at him in disbelief. “I told you not to come.”

“Well technically that wasn’t exactly what you said.” Arms crossed, you simply look at him. He smirks. “Is that a withering stare you’re throwing at me?”

“Tonight? Are you for real?”

“It’s not a school night.”

“No, it’s a night where your wife fucking asked me to pass her the brussel sprouts at dinner. Let go!” You wrench yourself away from him. Where are your keys and why do you have to have a million things in your bag!

“Oh, that…” The smile slides off his face. “You’ve sat on my face a million times, what’s the big deal now? Captain America give you a better offer?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” you huff.

“But there is one. Are you actually holding out for Bill? The man would be too chickenshit to hold your hand. And he has three kids, you’d hate them.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Or what then? Captain America ask you out on a date so now I’m chopped liver?”

“He did not ask me on a date!” you hiss. Finally your fingers close around your key. You’re a little angrier than you intended, and jam the key into the lock forcefully.

“Listen.” For once, John seems serious. “I told you she and I have an understanding about this. Nothing has to change.”

“Surely you understand why that’s not true,” you say to him incredulously. You unlock the door and step in, purposefully blocking him out. He actually looks shocked at your not giving in. “Don’t come back here again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 4/25


	2. Chapter 2

You really don’t expect Chris to text you after that evening, even after the photos hit.

When he does, you’re a tiny bit miffed.

_Sorry._

A one-word text just didn’t seem sufficient to you after the day that you’ve had.Seth Meyers is really the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s kind, takes the time to consult with you on your work, and not once has he ever hit on you.

But he could be so goddamn annoying. Seth delights in reading the article aloud. “’Is he finally taken? _Avengers_ and _Knives Out_ star Chris Evans was spotted cozying up to a mystery woman in Manhattan last Saturday evening. Passerbys noted that the actor, 38, seemed completely smitten.’”

Photos of the two of you in front of your apartment building were plastered on the magazine page. It was a little eerie, seeing yourself there. Of you and Chris walking, both smiling at each other, looking like an ad for a holiday Hallmark movie-

“No,” Amber corrects you, “that’s too diverse for Hallmark.”

\- maybe Freeform, then. Another shot of Chris handing you your phone. And there was another photo- this one new to you- of Chris’s face as he waits for you to enter your building. Your back is turned in the picture. His face is glowing and he was still sporting a small bashful grin.

“Girl, don’t even!” Amber scoffs when she notice how absorbed you appear to be at the article, even after everyone’s done making fun of you. “Look at this shit.”

It’s a gossip website, and the Chris Evans tag showed photos of him at what looked like a Superbowl party. There are multiple pictures of him, many of them with other women. Chris is smiling in every one, including one in which several women in bikinis pose with him. In February. In Boston.

So yeah, you were a little determined not to reply to his one-word text. You try to focus on your work, reviewing the cast on tomorrow night’s sketch. A certain name on the script that you hadn’t noticed gives you pause.

“Hey Amber?” You call out to her. “Is someone else going on in the sketch with Andy Samberg tomorrow?”

“Yeah, didn’t you see the rewrites? We’re going all out. Colin and Kenan are coming in, Mulaney’s coming, aren’t you buddies with them?”

“Not really.”

**Years ago…**

One-by-one, over the course of your first week, several of the cast members and writers came into the office to introduce themselves. Most were polite, a few a bit too friendly, but it all seemed to be in good fun and you return their banter. It was a nice change from your previous workplaces. Less than mindfully, you make the observation to a colleague, a woman a little older than you who had been hired at the same time that you were. 

“To you maybe,” she’d sniffed, turning away. It took a moment, but you take the hint to heart. She’d reminded you a little of your mother and her warnings to you every time that you came home to visit and you smile a bit less, cover up a bit more. She’s a worrywart, and you don’t take the comments to heart. You hadn’t met anyone who really piqued your interest anyway, not yet. 

Then he came in. Tall, lanky, so incredibly uneasy. “Hey buddy how are you?” Even his tone was endearing, pinched and nasally with a warm twang. You shake his outstretched hand slowly, thunderstruck. Before you can gather your thoughts, he’s already walking away, his arms swinging at his sides.

You can’t help but stare each time you see him, hoping he’ll meet your eyes. But he always seems so busy, so distracted. It was impossible to run into him while he was alone.

You packed your lunch, you always did, but when you saw him entering the commissary, and you’re so convinced you just needed an opening for him to fall for you. So you microwave your rice and chicken and claim a table and wait.

He doesn’t sit with you. Apparently there’s a cameraman he’s great friends with. It doesn’t keep you from looking, as furtive as you can over your tupperware.

You don’t notice the man who had taken the seat next to you, his amused gaze flitting to the object of your affections and then lingering on you. Impatiently, he leans in to your ear. “Boo.”

You scream- you can’t help it- and quickly pretend to be swatting a bug away when everyone whips their head around to see what’s going on. “Sorry.” Even Bill had turned.

Red-faced, you shrug apologetically at the other lunchgoers, then glare at the slender man who had chosen to sit next to you. “What the hell was that?” you demand. 

“What the hell was what? I’m not the one who’s creeping on Bill.” He mimics your outraged gasp, and maybe if you didn’t feel so humiliated you might have found his exaggerated impression of you funny.

“How can you tell?” you croak.

“Are you kidding? This is the fifth time this week I’ve noticed you mooning around him. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You cup your face with your hands and groan. “Can you blame me? He’s perfect!” You sigh.

“Perfect?” The man laughs, a low giggle at first, but he keeps going on and soon enough it builds to long, full-fledged laughter, rumbling from deep within his stomach. He pounds his fist on the table, head rolling. Heads turn to your table again, this time on the man sitting next to you. You stare at him in resentment.

“Oh god- fuck, my stomach hurts,” he chokes once he’s finally gotten hold of himself. “Christ I didn’t mean to do that I’m sorry.”

“You really don’t seem to be,” you deadpan.

“Let me try something else then. Bill’s married with two kids and another on the way, and honestly he’s kind of an oblivious prat. I’m John, nice to meet you.”

Despite your best attempt to hate him, after you get over your heartbreak, John doesn’t seem quite as bad. He’s a writer on the show- _a really good one_ \- and incredibly helpful when you’re just getting familiar with the show and seemingly screwing up _every single thing_ that you’re asked to work on.

“I can’t do this! I’m trying and I just keep fucking up! Comedy is just not my thing and New York is so expensive and I’m going to be fired and have to move in with my mother and if that happens, she’d be so ecstatic!” You say all of this without taking a breath. “Why haven’t they fired me, _why haven’t they fired me_!”

It’s very on early Sunday morning, just after a show and while the rest of the cast and staff are partying, you’re reviewing your most recent transgressions. Your unfortunate audience- luckily just John and Pete- are quite used to your outbursts. John opens his mouth and just as quickly, wisely closes it. Pete, not as wise, responds. “Well, Fred says he thinks Lorne keeps you around because you’re hot and the guests are nice to you and that makes them nicer to the staff and the writers.”

“He said what!” you screech.

“Fuck off, Pete! Get out!” John points at the door. Pete is more than happy to go and leaves to likely join the party. Once he’s gone, you round on John.

“Is he right? Did Fred really say that? Did Lorne really say that? Oh…” You collapse into the nearest chair. “I know you really don’t want to hear this right now, but I could really use a drink.”

John, knee-deep in years of AA meetings, grimaces. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is! You don’t know how it feels because you’re the golden boy here with your Emmy nominations and your sold out shows. I’m useless, I’m a skirt, I’m a nameless pair of tits who everyone thinks probably sucked off someone to get this job.” You rub your eyes furiously, willing yourself not to cry.

“Hey.” John kneels in front of you. “Stop it. You’re only months in, and this is a really difficult job. And no one thinks that about you but if anyone really thinks that about you, they’re awful, jaded, misogynistic pricks and we will wish every minor inconvenience for them every day for the rest of their sick lives.” He brushes your hair from your face.

“Look up.” You stare at John miserably. His face appears to be in deep thought. “Yeah, there is no possible way anyone could think that your looks got you here, you’re like a five. Ouch!” he rubs his arm where you hit him. “I was trying to make you feel better!”

“Yeah, you were doing really well at first,” you shot back. But you’re smiling a little, even if he’s not. His fingers are tracing your jawline.

“Maybe… six and a half,” John mutters to himself. The backs of his knuckles graze your cheeks, running down to meet just below your chin. His thumb tips your head up and your eyes meet uncertainly. An eternity seems to pass as you both deliberate your next action.

You reared your head, brushing his lips once. A beat passes. John meets you this time, his mouth closing over yours.

“No.” Almost immediately your hands are flat on his chest, pushing him away. “Nope, bad idea.”

“What? I mean- yeah, yeah, you’re right.” John looks bewildered for a second, then shakes his head and shoulders, as if he’s shaking you off.

You pull your cardigan close to you protectively. “I’m sorry. I think I started it.”

“Yes, you did.”

Suddenly indignant, you frown. “Or maybe you did. What the hell was that? Aren’t you with what’s-her-face?”

“… I don’t want to argue.” John coughs and shifts uncomfortably. “I think you should go.”

“Oh.” You’re taken aback. “You really think I should quit?”

“No, no, no, kid. I mean things are happening underground I don’t really want to get into, but I would really appreciate having some time alone.” John’s voice is pained and he’s avoiding your eyes.

Realizing what John is implying, your face colors. “Right! I’m going to go.” At the last minute, you turn back. “John?”

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter? Considering it...


	3. Chapter 3

Scarlett is in the studio when you arrive- not too surprising as Colin is a guest on the show that night. You’re startled when she follows you to your cubicle, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Hey, girl!” Scarlett has never been unfriendly, but this was a little more camaraderie than you were used to.

“Um, hey there,” you mumble. You’re not a morning person and aren’t quite ready to take her in.

“You look like you could use something to wake you up! Do you have time for a coffee break?”

It was not kosher for you to take a break when you’d just clocked in, but Scarlett ignores your objections and herds you into the break room. The pair of you receive several stares from your colleagues, but Scarlett doesn’t acknowledge it. She beckons you to sit while she works two French roasts from the Keurig.

“Coffee black? Yeah I’m worried about calories too,” Scarlett laughs. “You shouldn’t be- you’re not ever actually on the show right? Colin mentioned you were camera-shy in the old days.”

“Yes, that hasn’t changed.”

“Too bad. You’re gorgeous, if you were seen more you’d probably get snapped like that.” Scarlett snaps her fingers. “Are you seeing someone?”

You don’t trouble to hide your wariness. “What exactly are you trying to get at?”

“Trying to get to know you, that’s all. Little bit of talk just between us girls.”

“Not in a while,” you admit reluctantly.

“Is there someone still in the picture?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

You sigh. “It never really got started.”

“Explain.” A hint of impatience creeps into Scarlett’s voice.

“Why does this matter at all to you?”

“Because Chris is like my brother, he’s my best friend, and he likes you.” There’s less friendliness in Scarlett’s demeanor now, she’s all business.

You rise to dump the contents of your mug in the sink. “You can set the investigation to rest. I promise you, that’s not the case.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrow. “What did he do?”

Your forced chuckle is awkward. “That’s the point, he hasn’t done anything. If he liked me, I’d think he would have called by now. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.” After the insufficient one-word apology text from Chris and seeing the photos of him and other women, you truly didn’t expect anything more from him.

She groans and also stands. Without another word, Scarlett departs. You rinse out her coffee cup, take an aspirin for your developing headache, and go back to work.

You almost don’t answer the call coming from the unknown number. Still reviewing the account statements on your desk, you swipe the key to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Although you kept coming back to read his text messages, you hadn’t actually added him as a contact on your phone just yet. It was loud from Chris’s end and you had to strain to hear him. “How have you been?”

“Oh… okay.”

Chris picks up on your reticence. “So I owe you an apology. You work in media, but I don’t know why I just assumed you would know about all of this already. With iPhones, everyone’s paparazzi.”

“Not your fault.”

“Still, it’s a nightmare. I don’t see that they’ve found your name yet, but I’m sorry they will. They always do.”

 _Delightful, something to look forward to._ Clearly he was just feeling guilty, so you try to adopt a nicer tone to let him out of it easy. “Thanks for calling Chris, but it wasn’t necessary.”

He sound skeptical. “No, I think it was. Are you… upset with me? I know I should have called you earlier. My really lame excuse is that I’ve been doing some promo work for a movie and it’s been non-stop since I flew out.”

“No, I totally understand. ” You intended for that to sounded more genuine and less sarcastic. This would have been so much easier if he just texted you like any other normal person.

You could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re finishing up here and I don’t have to come back until tomorrow night, so if you were available I thought I’d fly down and spend the day with you. I could get in by midnight if you wanted to grab a really late dinner.”

“… I don’t-”

“I would completely understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with me because of all the fuss,” Chris hurries to interrupt you, “but I promise this is not a booty call. In all honesty, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Saturday.”

Your eyes fall on John’s cue cards on a neighboring desk. “Sure, why not?”

Keeping the meeting with Chris in mind, you take great care in preparing yourself that evening, spending at least two hours on your face and hair. You wouldn’t allow the thought that making yourself up was for anyone else but your date for tonight.

Pete slides next to you with a lascivious snarl. “Damn girl, who you trying to impress?”

“Can’t I just want to look pretty just for me?” You shot back at him. “You know you actually don’t work in this studio, right?”

“Never, in the realm of man and space and time, has a woman shown the amount of boobage and legs combo you’re wearing right now if it weren’t to get a guy, or to spite him. Tell me, who is it? It’s me, isn’t it?” Pete jumps up and down excitedly.

“On that topic, how is the Goddess?”

Pete makes a dismissive gesture. “She couldn’t keep up with my hip-hopping, rock n’ roll lifestyle. Crazy as shit in the sack though, I miss her.”

There was some commotion at the studio entrance. Seth was such a kid whenever an old friend was around- and then there he was.

You make eye contact with John. He takes one, lasting, look at you, and you see him catch his throat.

His long legs cross the room quickly to where you and Pete stand. “Hey there Pete,” John says, although he doesn’t glance away from you.

“Hey John. You look old as fuck.”

You listen to them banter back and forth, pretending to make notes on your clipboard as camera film whirls all around you. Pete has to head back next door, so you and John are left alone when the show starts. Your eyes are on your boss during his monologue, but you’re all too aware of John’s tall figure looming near. His arm perches on the podium you’re leaning against, fingers tapping the surface next to your neck.

“ _Fuck I miss yo_ u,” he whispers, and the tapping stops. He’s up next.

Years ago…

  
He’d said no, and you were mortified enough to give your notice. But it wasn’t just because of him, you convinced yourself. You were sick of your job- you were bad at it and you were so sick of not getting any better and your producers giving you shit instead of teaching and the constant harassment from your bosses.  
So you quit.

Your last two weeks at work consisted of job hunting surreptitiously at your work desk, saying goodbye to your colleagues, and if you’re honest with yourself- dodging and ducking John any time you saw him. You had to be quite creative with this, as now it seemed like you saw him everywhere you went in 30 Rock.

It’s the night before your last day when there’s an unexpected buzzer on your intercom. You’re in your room, reading and initially ignore it- you didn’t live in the best area and it was not uncommon for someone to decide to ring in- but the buzzing was unrelenting, and ultimate you go to answer it.

“Hey. It’s me.”

You freeze, and consider not answering. The voice on the intercom sighs. “Can I come up?” A beat passes while you think. “Please. There’s these guys hanging out on your stoop and I’m out of change to give out and you know-” You press the button to allow him in. Seconds later, John is knocking on your door. “You live in a really bad neighborhood,” he pronounces with wide eyes when you open the door.

You shrug in return. You’re grateful that your roommate isn’t home when you let John in. There wasn’t much- you were one step over starving college student and you weren’t exactly making the big bucks at SNL. John’s hands are in his pockets, and he’s staring around your living room and kitchen, but without any real interest. Then, his eyes dart back to you.

“What are you doing here?” you finally ask to break the silence. John doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking directly at you, and it’s unnerving. John was the chattiest person you knew and it was just unnerving that he’d come all this way and say nothing.

“John-”

“Is this really how you look when you’re right about to go to bed?”

The question comes out of nowhere and adds to your consternation. _“What?”_

“I always thought you wore a ton of makeup every day to work. Admittedly I’m a straight man in my thirties so I know nothing about makeup but I guess I’ve been conditioned by society that when someone looks like you, then they must spend hours getting ready. But you look the same way now in your pajamas as you do at work and I can’t believe anyone would willingly wear makeup 24/7, but I’m a man so feel free to correct me.”

“John, you’re not making any sense.”

“No, I’m fucking not making any sense. I can’t make sense of anything. I have a perfect fucking fiancee but I can’t get you out of my head. You and your perfect fucking face.”

“Stop it!”

“No! I have to get this out.” Looking crazed, John is pacing around your living room and pointing at you. “I’ve tried talking to you about it before, but you won’t fucking even look at me at work so now I’m here raving like a crazy person in your shitty apartment-”

“Yeah well I’m sorry I don’t have rich parents paying for an apartment in Manhattan, you privileged asshole!” you yell heatedly.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“I didn’t!”

“You did! That night- a month ago- what was the reason?”  
“… Isn’t it obvious?” you sputter.

“I mean, why me? You have all those others guys back there slobbering over you, and you go with this?” John motions towards himself. “Like, why?”

“You said no, so why do you care?”

“Because I need to know the answer so I can stop thinking of every stupid possible reason you-”

“I-I-no!”

You stomp off to your bedroom, but John follows you. “You can’t say no! Really, I want to know! I expected this to look way different,” he adds, looking at your unmade bed and your clothes all over the floor.

“John, go home. To your _girlfriend_.”

“ _Fiancee_ ,” he corrects you.

“Wow, my mistake.”

“Believe me, I would love to go home and be with my amazing fiancee but I have this annoying thought in the back of my head and I just can’t get it out.” He runs his hands through his hair. “For my sanity, can you just explain to me what the hell that was?”

“For fuck’s sake!” You step up on the mattress, walking on your sheets to where John stands on the foot of your bed. Leaning down, your hands grab John by the collar and pull him to you.

John’s hands are on your elbows then your shoulders then your waist, not sure where to go. You sink to your knees, taking him down with you. You wrap your fists tighter on his shirt, needing him to be closer. The tip of his tongue traces your lower lip, evoking a moan you’re unable to contain. John shudders at the noise. Not breaking apart, he pins you down on the bed, his fingers resting on your throat. Your lips move in tandem until you’re breathless, and you can’t get enough of him.

Gasping, John joins his forehead to yours. “Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there where this turns explicit...


	4. Chapter 4

You stand outside of the restaurant that Chris had asked you to meet him at for a long time after you’ve arrived.

_Stop being so nervous!_ You chide yourself, fighting down the urge to reapply your lipstick, let your hair down instead of keeping it up or vice versa, you button and unbutton your coat multiple times, and… maybe you should just go home. You open and swipe away the Lyft app multiple times. You’d taken the train here, but the walk from the station in four inch heels had killed your feet.

You should be late now, but even with all of your back and forth, as always you’re unnecessarily early. You walk to the entrance of the restaurant, stopping for the final time to check your reflection on the glass door.

“Fuck me,” a voice behind you whispers. You pivot on the heel of your shoe. Chris walks towards you slowly, twinkling blue eyes barely perceptible under a navy Red Sox hat. He takes you in from head to toe, and you don’t miss how how his gaze lingers on the neckline of your dress and the slit of your skirt. “I should have taken you somewhere better. You look…” He gives you another once-over. “I have no words, you look amazing.”

“Thank you.” You bask in the compliment.

“So what have you decided?” Chris’s smirk is challenging. “Been watching you for a while. Are you going in or what?”

“I… hadn’t decided yet,” you admit.

“Is there anything I can do to help you make up your mind?”

“No, but I’d guess you’re pretty persuasive.”

Chris flashes you a killer smile. “Only when I want to be.” 

You had no doubt he could be irresistible. Speaking of… “Listen, before anything happens here, I have to bring up something. I don’t want to sound weird about this and you totally don’t have to explain this to me at all.” Haltingly, you bring up the photos and articles of him that Amber had shown you, showing him linked to multiple women. Chris appears stunned. “… I just made this weird right? You know what, maybe this isn’t the best idea. I think I’m going to go.” Your eyes are already on the street, scanning the passing vehicles for an available taxi. Spotting one, you go to flag it.

“Don’t.” Chris puts his hand over yours. “Jesus, slow down-”

“You on a date Chris?” Your head whips behind you. A man with a camera approaches the pair of you, clicking away madly. “Go ahead and fight him off, sweetheart. Is he being a bad boy?”

“Oh my god.” You turn away defensively. Chris lets go of your hand and you cover your face. Between your fingers, you could see that the paparazzo was not deterred by your reaction. If anything he came even closer to you.

“Hey man, back off!” Chris throws an arm over you protectively, throwing the hood of your jacket to cover your head. “I’ll guide you, just walk,” he tells you urgently. You obey him without question, keeping your eyes on your feet to make sure you don’t stumble.

“She’s hot, Chris. Where did you find her?” You could feel how rigid Chris was against you, his grip tightening on your arm. Failing to get a response from him, the man directs his next questions at you. “Sweetheart, don’t be shy. What’s your Instagram handle? I’ll tag you when the photos post.”

“Don’t say anything,” Chris whispers to you though clenched teeth. To the paparazzo, he tries to sound reasonable. “Come on man, we’re just trying to have a quiet night. You leave us alone, I’ll send something over.”

“Real shit, Chris?” The paparazzo seems interested. “A name? Details?”

“It’ll be worthwhile,” Chris replied in exasperation.

“I’ll take your word for it. Sorry about that, ma’am. You kids have a good night.”

When the paparazzo is a good distance away, you break free from Chris’s arm. “Oh my god,” you mumble again, cupping your face in your hands. You clench your eyes shut for a moment, and when you open them Chris is crouched down to your level, his face heavy with apology.

“I am so sorry for that.”

“Is that a common occurrence?” 

“It’s not… uncommon.”

You run your hand through your hair. “I don’t know if I can do that on the regular. The way you got him to leave… What did he mean by name, did he mean mine?”  
“I won’t give them anything on you,” Chris promises. You look at him warily. You’re about to call it for the night, but he adds in a hurry, “Before you ask to go home, please just let me take you somewhere. I promise you that we’ll be alone.”

Against your better judgment, you agree to stay. 

Chris claims it’s not far, but a few blocks later, you’re ready to cry from the pain in your heels and just as stubborn not to show your discomfort. Perhaps sensing that you’re slowing down, Chris takes your hand and guides you to a row of modest apartment buildings- or at least as modest as it could be while still being in the West side- and beckons you into the hall of one of the nondescript townhouses. A doorman sees the pair of you and doesn’t bat an eye. 

“Where are we?” You ask him, but Chris just smiles and leads you into a elevator. He pulls close the elevator gates, and then to your astonishment drops on his knees in front of you. “Chris, what are you-” His fingers are working on the side strap of your sandals. Unbuckling it, he gently lifts your foot out of the shoe by your ankle, and then works on your other foot.

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

“You should have told me your feet were hurting earlier,” he chides you, holding on to your sandals while he turns a key the elevator and presses a button. He opens the elevator gates into a dark room. Chris steps out, so you do too. You feel a wooden floor under your bare feet. Chris feels around for the lights and flicks it on. The room you’re standing in is large and open. Chris places your sandals in a nearby closet, and helps you with your coat.

You look around in curiosity, “Where are we?”

“This is where I stay when I’m in in New York. Let me show you around.”

The kitchen is small and full of gadgets that you’d expect someone who didn’t want to cook but had a lot of money would have. There is a corner area with a television, sofa and writer’s desk. In the back is a wide bed on a wooden platform and an adjoining bathroom. 

Your appraisal saw the apartment was modern and tastefully furnished- but incredibly impersonal. There is a light scattering of dust when your fingers brush an end table. Although you didn’t know him well, there was nothing there that linked it to Chris. Or to anyone really. Hearing you make the observation out loud, Chris laughs.

“You’re right. I took this place on because I was here so often for filming, but I’m home in Boston whenever I can help it, or LA if I can’t. So…” He shows you the delivery app on his phone. “What are you in the mood for?”

You argue between Indian and Vietnamese food before settling on Thai. In the meantime, Chris attempts to make cocktails, but you have to Google a how-to article and coach him on the steps.

Chris brandishes the drinks with mock flourish. “Do you Google every time you don’t know how to do something?”

“Probably more than I need to.” You cradle your phone lovingly.

He grins cheekily. “Oh yeah? That’s how you knew all about my exploits?” You’re genuinely surprised he is the one who decides to bring that conversation back up. “I’m trying to think of an excuse, and honestly- I don’t have any. I’m single, I get drunk at the Superbowl, I talk to women. Also, you didn’t text me back.”

“What?” you sputter.

“When the photos got out. I know I sound petty as all hell but you didn’t reply when I said sorry, so I thought okay, she’s not interested. Or maybe you freaked out at the photos and were pissed at me, I don’t know. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“All you said was sorry, I didn’t think it warranted a reply it was so short.”

Chris smirks. “So you were pissed.”

You purse your lips. “Maybe a little. My coworkers found it hilarious, my family… less so.”

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I didn’t want to force you to talk to me if you just wanted to forget the whole thing. But I mentioned it to Scarlett, and she said she’d pay you a visit to check, which I guess she did.”

“She’s very forceful.”

He smiles fondly. “Yes, she’s an amazing friend. Okay, how about this? I propose a do-over where I send longer texts.” Chris holds out an outstretched hand. “I’m Chris, nice to meet you.”

“Okay.” You shake his hand. “And I’ll reply and express my indignation.”

“Deal!” Chris takes a huge gulp of his drink. “This is awful, by the way. I’m really a beer guy. By the way, your friend Pete was at that same Superbowl party, and he was stealing- successfully, by the way- every single girl I talked to.”

“He is really good at that.”

“For purely macho territorial reasons, please tell me you never hooked up with him.”

“Not even close.”

The doorman brings up your late dinner and you help Chris with arranging the table. While eating, you tacitly express to Chris you had read a recent feature about him on _GQ_ , which revealed quite a bit about his background.

“What else?” he asks apprehensively.

“Wikipedia… Twitter… Instagram…” You grimace. “Do I sound like a psycho stalker? In my defense, I do Google everyone I date. You were just the easiest one to find info on. I mean, didn’t you Google me?”

“No, but my agent did. Does that count? I didn’t look!”

For dessert, you share the sweet sticky rice pudding and discussed your families. “My parents wanted me to be a doctor or lawyer or anything with a lot more money. They’re immigrants, and they worked really hard and they don’t want me to have to work as hard as they did. They don’t really understand what I’m doing. Truth be told, they’re more than a little disappointed.” You shrug. “They think I just hang around actors, so this isn’t really disproving their theory.”

After dinner, you move on to the sofa. On one end, you sit with your back leaning on the arm of the chair, your legs crisscrossed beneath a cushion. Chris sits on the other end of the sofa, balancing a can of beer on the cushion on your lap. Discussing hobbies, you bite your lip nervously. “The last album I listened to was probably the _Book of Mormon_ soundtrack? Someone took me to see it some time ago and I’ve been obsessed ever since. Last TV show… something murder-y from the Investigation Discovery Channel. God, I must sound deranged.”

“A little bit.” When Chris laughs or grins, you observe little crinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes. His laughter came from his belly, and he had a habit of slapping his stomach and throwing his head back when he laughed. Whenever there’s a lull in the conversation, he threw his arm on the head of the sofa and laid his head against it, his expression quiets to a sleepy contentment, and after some time you realize how tired he looks. “Just what are you looking at?” He asks bemusedly when you stare for too long.

“I’ve stayed too long. You’re exhausted.” You move to get up, but Chris puts his hand on yours again. 

“Don’t go.”

“It’s three in the morning,” you reply incredulously. “When are you leaving town exactly?”

“Uh… eight?”

“Today! You’re leaving at 8PM?” Chris rubs his eyes and shakes his head slightly in response. “In the morning? That’s insane! You flew in just to…” As this bit of information dawns on you, Chris’s grip tightens on your hand. 

“So you see, I really want you to stay.” The man was persuasive when he wanted to be. His smile widens. “I can’t possibly seduce you in my sorry state anyway. Cuddling is the best that I can do.”

You finally nod. “Fine. Do you have anything I can change into then?”

You laugh off Chris’s suggestion of using his dress shirt as a nightgown but accept his offer of a tshirt and boxer shirts. When you come out of the bathroom after changing and washing off your face, Chris is already on the bed and looks close to passing out. Music is playing- some _Top 40_ hit you vaguely recognize- at low volume. Chris has slipped out of his button-up and khakis and lays on top of the sheets, shirtless and in loose pajama bottoms. You take a moment to admire his exposed chest and arms before joining him on the bed cautiously, perching on the edge of the mattress.

“You’re not really going to stay all the way over there? Baby girl, one slight move and you’ll fall to the floor.” Chris’s eyes are closed already as he admonishes you.  
You roll over a little closer, but Chris is one step ahead and closes the gap between the two of you. Up close, he smells like men’s cologne and aftershave, but not obnoxiously so, to your relief. His arm closes over your shoulder, bringing you closer and your back slams against his front with a gentle thud. You have to gasp- being so close to Chris is overpowering and you take care not to squirm at how your body reacts to the firm, taut body cradling yours. 

You’re fairly sure your skin wasn’t tingling like that before.

“Mmm,” Chris snuggles in closer. “Again, I promise I’m too sleepy, but I apologize in advance if biologically something below pokes out and says hi.”

The absurdity of this sends you into giggles. Chris chuckles too, his stomach sending low vibrations of laughter against your back. “I’ll warn you too then, in a few seconds my skin will be as hot as a furnace.”

“I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.” He nuzzles his face into your shoulder. “Cuddling is so underrated.”

“Yeah, it is,” you whisper back, just now realizing how long it’s been since you were close to someone like this.

“I haven’t kissed you yet…” Chris’s voice is becoming weaker with sleep. “But I will soon. I’m not finished yet with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Chris, so next chapter will be all John!


	5. Chapter 5

**Years Ago…**

Your first instinct- the right thing to do- would have been to let go of John. To jump off of the bed, to scramble away from him, to yell at him and demand that he get the fuck out of your apartment.

You don’t do any of this. Your fingers are woven into the fabrics of his shirt, and you could feel the rapid beating of his chest against your closed knuckles. Your faces are joined, and you chance a glance at John between your eyelashes. His eyes are cast down, and his breathing is ragged. His hands are still at your neck, and they’re shaking.

“That’s twice now,” he says, his voice strained. “Twice that you’ve kissed me and stop. I-”

“What?”

“If you kiss me again, I’m not going to be able to stop. So don’t kiss me again, unless you’re _really_ sure.”

The implication of his words set in, and you stare at him, your eyes wide. Then, you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

John’s mouth opens indignantly. “How dare you-I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.” You laugh even louder, letting go of him and clutching your belly in laughter. “Stop laughing at me or I’ll make you stop. Really, I will.” 

His insistence only makes you laugh harder. You snort and throw your head back, clutching your hands to your belly. John’s mouth narrows with every titter that escapes your lips. You accidentally let out a not-so-ladylike snort- you try to catch it- and John swoops in. For such a lean man, his grip is surprisingly strong. He keeps your wrists restrained at your sides, but you don’t put up a fight. You yield to his persistent caresses, all too aware of the heat pooling at the pit of your stomach.

“I thought you said that if you kissed me again you’re not going to be able to stop,” you quip when you break apart.

“Smart ass. No, I said if you kissed me I won’t be able to stop. I however, am still in control of my faculties.” But he’s taken hold of your hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing the palm of your hand, your fingers, the inside of your wrist, once, twice, three times- each small impact sends a delightful tingling from your lips all the way down to your toes. 

It was enough to make you pause, but not forget.

“John. Stop.” His expression is surprisingly tender when he looks back up at you. “I can’t think when you do that.”

“Well, that’s the general idea behind it.”

“No!” You tug your hand back and crawl away from him. “I need to think.” You stand from the bed. “Do you want some soup?”

“What?” It’s quite clear whatever John thought you weren’t going to say, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I haven’t had dinner. Have you?” You march to the small kitchen that adjoined your living room and pull a small pot from under the sink. Stunned, John watches you fill the pot with water and set it to boil. John quietly complies when you ask him to get eggs and scallions from the refrigerator and watches you crack two eggs in a bowl and cut the scallions. When the water is boiling, you toss the noodles in.

“I’m really trying not to sound like a creep about this, but are we not going to…”

“Not going to what?” you ask him impatiently, adding the broth base to the pot. 

“… you know…” John gestures his hands wildly.

“ _You know_ you’re much more Catholic about this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m trying not to be, if you could please just march your pretty little ass back to bed.”

“I told you, I haven’t had dinner yet.” You add the egg last, and fill two bowls, sliding the other bowl to the counter in front of John. “Eat.”

Somehow he’d located chopsticks in one of the kitchen drawers and hands you a pair. You eat silently for a few minutes, but the noodles taste like chalk on your tongue, and you have a hard time swallowing. Your chopsticks fall to the counter with a clatter. “Why did you never ask me out?”

You catch him mid-chew. “What?”

“All those months ago, I thought we had- something. You always had a reason to talk to me, you invited me to all those dinners and plays. But never just the two of us alone. Why?”

“Why are you asking me all of this now?”

“Because I thought it was all in my imagination because that’s what single people do. Idealize words and looks into being significant when they don’t mean anything.”

“I was looking at you. It wasn’t all in your head.”

“Then why did you never tell me?”

“Because every other guy back there was doing the same thing and forgive me if I didn’t want to join the long, _long_ line to get to you.”

“You’re exaggerating!”

“Not much. There is a certain type of girl that has your job and each one of them ends up in the Upper East Side with a stockbroker or a football player or Ben Affleck.”

“So that’s your opinion of me?”

“Not even close.”

The stool you were sitting on scatters to the floor in your haste. You leap onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist and catching his lips in a searing kiss. John’s hands immediately go to your waist, his feet firm on the kitchen floor to maintain balance. If you’d fallen to the floor, you doubted you would have noticed.

“I told you I won’t be able to stop.”

“Don’t stop.”

You ground yourself against him pointedly, looking at him straight in the eyes. John sighs, and then he’s pulling down your shirt and his mouth is closing on your nipple. Clothes are quickly shed. John kicks away his pants and pauses briefly to unbutton your pajama top and pull his shirt over his head. You laugh when his lips tickle your neck, his kisses sweeping between your throat and the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe. 

“Kitten, laughter is not what a man wants to hear when he’s dropped his pants.” You squeal when he lifts you to the counter with no warning. “I want to see the rest of you.” You lift your bottom as he pulls down your shorts, and then your panties. A hiss of appreciation escapes John as he eyes you from head to toe.

After a moment of this close scrutiny, you cross your arms over your breasts and close your thighs protectively. “Don’t do that,” John tells you. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help staring.”

“You know before this kind of thing happens, I usually have time to prepare, to shave, put on non-torn underwear and all that. You just kind of burst into my apartment.”

John’s hand is on your knees, gently nudging your thighs apart. His fingers trail the insides of your thighs, inching closer to you. You utter a sharp intake of breath when he finds your slit, his fingers sinking between the folds. “You’re perfect,” John whispers, and bows his head on your lap. He kisses your mound gently at first, his lips wandering every so often to your slit. You toss your head back and emit soft moans with bated breath. 

John’s fingers curl inside you at the same moment his tongue circles your clit, and that’s when you lose your mind. 

“John!” you cried. He hums in response, the vibrations from his throat reverberating on your most tender areas. His tongue moves languidly, the pressure constant on your crevice. He seemed to sense when the pressure grew to be too much for you, and alternated between his lips and tongue. You couldn’t take it. “Please, you plead, running your fingers through his hair and bucking your hips toward him.

John hummed assentingly, and then his tongue is on your clit again, pressing and more urgent. His fingers pump in and out of you, your moans getting progressively louder. You come apart soon enough, waves of pleasure cascading through your body, exacerbated by John’s continued assault. You scramble to get away from his mouth, but he keeps a strong hold on your thighs, and in no time at all you come again.

“Fuck!” you collapse on the tile counter, spent. You reach over and throw a kitchen towel at John. He wipes his face, smiling smugly. “Fuck, you repeat, and beckon him closer. You raise yourself and kiss him, deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. “Fuck,” you say again, biting your lip and gazing at him with lusty, half-lidded eyes.

John pretends to consider. “Okay.” He pulls you down from the counter and bids you back towards the bedroom, his hands caressing your breasts and rear. You find a condom on your bedside drawer quickly, and push him back on the bed, climbing him astride.

Taking him into your hands, you stroke his cock curiously. John groans, and you pump him more confidently. You lean down and put your mouth on the head of his cock, lips skimming down the base. Your cheeks hollow as you bob slowly, up and down the length of him.

John sits up and pulls you back, straddling his lap. He unwraps the condom and slides it on, maneuvering himself to your core. In an unexpected move John cradles your face tenderly, meeting your eyes as he dips into you. He kisses your cheeks, one and then the other. It wasn't a look you've seen before, from anyone. 

“This is the the only time we can do this,” you insist, rocking your hips against him.

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: That was not the only time. 
> 
> I did not expect to write all of this tonight. Not proofread. As someone also raised Catholic, I am hanging my head in shame. Next chapter, we are back at the present!


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, you have to take a moment to gather your surroundings. You gaze at the unfamiliar ceiling with bleary eyes before you quickly remember whose oversized shirt you’re wearing and shoot straight up in the bed.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Chris is smiling at you from an adjacent bench, already properly dressed and pulling on a pair of sneakers. “I was really trying not to.”

“No.” You glance at the time on your phone. “You’re leaving already.” Chris nods. “Were you going to wake me?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Chris moves to sit on the bed next to you. “You looked so sweet and peaceful and your shirt kept riding up.”

“Oh!” You blush and adjust the shirt, but Chris is laughing.

“I’ve made coffee in case you want any. The doorman downstairs has been told to lock up whenever you’re ready to leave and call a car to take you home. I’m sorry to just run off, but I have a flight I will probably just barely make at this point. But I would really-” Chris takes your hand and closes his own over it- “like to see you again. Soon.”

He’s close now, so close you could make out the individual lashes on his eyelid. “I need to brush my-” But Chris’s lips are already brushing over yours softly, just a goodbye kiss. But then he does it again. And again.

As soon as you respond, Chris pulls away. “No, no, I will miss my flight if you do that.”

“When will I see you again?” you ask him, breathless.

“Probably sooner than you think. I’ll text you.”

You hadn’t seen Chris in over a week, but true to his word he would text you whenever he could. You always replied, and at work your friends smiled knowingly whenever they say you were glued to your phone.

“So, you’re probably not going to be very happy with me.”

Turning from your phone screen, you swivel in your chair and raise a questioning eyebrow at your boss. Seth smiles at you sheepishly, hands folded primly, already requesting forgiveness.

“Please tell me you’re not missing any receipts again, it’s such a pain to chase them down.”

“Hey, those receipts are really small! But I will discuss that with you at another time. I actually came over to give you the heads-up about my guest for Friday night. Downey Jr. dropped out, but someone else agreed to step in.”

“Who?” Your phone was vibrating on your desk, indicating multiple texts, and your eyes were flitting between it and Seth impatiently, wishing he would go away so you could read your messages.

Seth tracks the movement of your eyes to your phone and sports a grin. “Well, what do we have here? Is that your gentleman caller, young lady?”

“’Gentleman caller?’ Have we suddenly been transported back in time to the 1950s?”

“Well if we were, you wouldn’t have been distracted all week giggling into your phone. You almost walked into the wall yesterday!”

You actually had crashed into a podium in the lobby earlier but you weren’t about to tell Seth that. “Back on topic Seth Meyers, why do I need to know who the guest is for Friday?”

Seth smiles mysteriously and double taps the screen of your phone. You gasp when the realization sets in. “You’re lying to me.”

“No, his agent was very quick to call and offer that he step in. How could I refuse? I just stopped by because, since you’re a _close personal affiliate_ , you might be able to help with interview topics.” Your phone is still buzzing. “Or maybe you’d like to step on camera?”

You needed several reassurances from Seth that he would include you in nothing of the sort leading up to the day of the show.

“Girl, do not trust him,” Amber added after every one of the boss’s refutals.

You had no plans to. Enough people in the office had seen the tabloid photos of you and Chris. The whispering and snickering around you rose more and more as it got closer to Friday.

You and Chris rarely spoke on the phone, but your anxiety gets to you and you finally call him early on Friday morning. You’re relieved he answers. “Please don’t tell me you’re going on the show tonight because of me,” you blurt out.

“Well.” Chris sounds a little taken aback. “I was wondering if you knew. Listen, I am contractually obligated to promote my show and Rob’s agent is friends with mine. Rob hates canceling anything so I’m doing him a favor and ticking something off my to-do list.”

“So just to be sure, I’m not a factor here?”

You hear him chuckle. “I’m not going to lie. You being there is a big bonus. Ever heard of the casting couch?”

“Oh god.” You moan in distress, fingers reaching up to rub your temple.

“Joking! Do you really not want me there? It’s a little too late to cancel, babe.”

“No, don’t cancel. But I’m a little worried,” you admit. “This is my place of work. I know you have to do your job but I have to do mine too and I don’t want to be a joke here.”

“I won’t do that,” he assures you. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before I signed on, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.” Chris sighs. “Look, I like you. I took this on because I really wanted to see you again. Can I see you after the show? I have a little more time to stick around tonight.”

In spite of everything and against your better judgment, you say yes.

You’re reconsidering the office open-door policy when Pete stops by next door with Karen, a writer who worked with Seth on the show.

“Well, well, well,” Pete starts dramatically, “do you think she can spare the time to speak with us mere randos, Miss Chee?”

Karen giggles. “Oh my gosh, you have to tell us everything. I mean you don’t have to but oh my gosh I can’t believe you’re dating Chris Evans.”

“See I always knew you would pull a big one,” Pete commented. “Trying to be all innocent and everything, but you’re a freak aren’t you. Dudes like him always pull the low key freaks.”

“Alright, youngins quit it- out,” Amber comes in and flashes a steely look at Pete and Karen. The pair wilt under her authoritative eyes and leave sheepishly. When they’re out,

Amber pulls up a chair next to you. “I’ve known you for a really long time, are you actually okay with all this going on?”

“… I don’t know.”

“I’m like, your number one girl best friend, aren’t I?” You nod. “See girl, that’s just sad. You’re not even in my top five of girl best friends, and it’s not because I don’t like you, you just don’t really talk about yourself that much. I need the intimate details for a bestie.”

“I’ve told you plenty!” you claim defensively.

“Girl, no you don’t. You didn’t tell me all those months ago when you were sleeping with a married man for instance.”

You just about jump out of your seat. “How did-how did you know-”

Amber scoffs. “Please, you were so obvious. You never had plans on weekends but always made yourself unavailable for dates or happy hours. I was so glad when you ended it by the way.”

“Amber, I don’t-”

“Shut up. Every woman in New York City has been through it, I’m not judging. I care that you’re jumping from one toxic dude to possibly another.”

“If this is your way of trying to get the inside scoop-”

“That too, girl like damn, you’re suspicious so dang quickly, like hell. Having said all that, you have bestie potential. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

You ponder Amber’s invitation for a very long time.

Chris gets in late, so you don’t have time to greet him. You were just going to hide in your cubicle while Chris was on camera and wait for him to finish. But Amber and Karen badger you into watching with the crew in the audience. You relent after Seth’s interview with Chris had already started.

“So Chris, you’re bicoastal. You live the best of both worlds. Boston and Los Angeles.” Chris nods agreeably. “However, I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time here in New York recently.”

Your ears perk at this. You watch Chris closely for his reaction.

“Yes, I have several childhood friends who for some reason think this is the greatest city in the world. I don’t personally agree, but I am here pretty frequently for them.” Chris pulls off the answer with an easy, assured smile. You relax, just a bit.

But Seth doesn’t let up. “It’s pretty fantastic you’re able to keep those connections, especially considering what your life is like now. However, it must still affect your life in certain ways.” Seth leans towards Chris. “In a recent interview, you stated that ‘more than anything, what you really want is a family of your own’ and that a wife and kids have always been a part of what you imagined for yourself in your future.”

Unconsciously, your hands tighten around your clipboard. You’re vaguely aware that Amber and Karen are staring at your profile, brows furrowed in curiosity.

“So how is that going for you?” Seth presses him.

Chris chuckles. “Well, I’m working on it. I’m reaching a certain age, and it’s made me more cognizant of what I really want in my life at this stage. Work keeps me busy and I travel often, so actively meeting women can be difficult.”

“So you’re currently not seeing anyone right now?” Even without prior tabloid knowledge, Seth’s suggestive smirk sends the audience into scandalized titters. Chris opens his mouth, and then closes it. He flushes. It sends the women in the crowd into titters.

“You know, I did meet someone not too long ago.” Your clipboard drops to the floor with a loud thud, but the sound is deafened by the excited chatters from the audience. It doesn’t stop a producer nearby from throwing a dirty look at you.

“Oh?” Seth is fully grinning now. “Tell us about her.”

“It’s a little early and out of respect for her, I don’t really want to say much more than that.” There was a disappointed groan from the house. “But she might be out there watching this, and if she’s listening-” Chris’s eyes are on you now, somehow having spotted you among the crew in the mezzanine- “I’m thinking about you.”

His tone is husky, vivid, intimate. The women in the crowd swoon audibly. Karen is as star-struck as you’ve ever seen her, tapping your arm in glee. Amber, who has known you for a bit longer, is quietly skeptical. You stay rooted to your spot.

You feel a tug on your arm, but don’t turn, your eyes still glued to Chris. They pull your elbow again, more sharply this time. You turn expecting to see Amber or Karen, but it’s John.

You don’t react, not in front of everyone here. His mouth is set into a thin line, his face inscrutable. He gestures his head for you to follow him to the back.

Your eyes return to the show. Seth is now questioning Chris about the launch of his new website. Chris is answering animatedly. Every so often, his gaze would drift up to where you were. Imperceptibly, you shake your head.

A few members of the crew had noticed John’s presence and were now gathered around him, surprised by his appearance. You could hear them speaking to them but John’s replies are short, curt- it was very unlike him.

You heard him drop your name. “-they just asked me to come grab her, but she seems a little distracted at the moment.” John’s voice is tinged with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Can you blame her?” Karen giggles. With no choice now, you march to the back of the studio, John quickly following behind.

You stare straight ahead, his steps echoing in the nearly hallway behind you. You dart into your shared office, which was thankfully empty. John closes and locks the door behind him. He leans back against the wall, his arms crossed. You fall on your chair, glaring at the opposite wall.

John breaks the silence. “Are you having money issues?”

“What?”

“It’s the only reason I can think of. You have to be in some sort of PR contract with him, right?”

You gape at him, incredulous. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re actually seeing this guy?”

“What if I am? Is it actually more believable for you to think I’m pretending to date someone than actually seeing him?”

“In all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve been so camera-shy that you won’t even get a Facebook. Now you’re been on the front cover of _People_ twice in the last month- not center stage yet, that damn Bachelor and his exploits- but I’m sure his people will be getting you from top left corner to headline any day now.”

Your voice actually shakes from anger. “Do you really think I’m incapable of- _you asshole_ -”

“Well let’s face it, you don’t have the best record when it comes to relationships.” John regrets the words almost as soon as they come from his mouth.

It hits right where he’s aimed it. You’re not a crier, you can’t recall the last time that you cried, even in childhood, but you imagine the pressure on your chest now is similar to that urge. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” There’s a long pause. “Will you just look at me?”

“No.” Your voice comes out as a whimper.

You hear John’s steps getting closer. “I’m sorry for saying that. I’m sorry for bombarding you like this. You’re right I’m being an asshole- and I hate it,” you hear him say. “But it wasn’t right you… ghosting me like that. No warning. You just disappeared from my life.”

There’s a light knock on the door. “If you want to me to get down on my knees and beg for you to come back, I will. Or just tell me you don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. Just say _something_.”

The knocking starts again, louder this time. You were still at work. It would have been odd to keep the door locked with only you and John in the room. You jump to your feet, and dodging John, go to answer.

The interview ended sooner than you thought. “Hey.” Chris bares his teeth at you in a grin, his smile faltering a bit when he sees John behind you. He looks at John, and then to you. “What’s going on in here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another piece written in a rush, forgive any errors. I had really imagined this story going in a certain way in the beginning and it's really gotten away from me. 
> 
> Next chapter will be a POV from one or both of the boys. Really excited about writing that one!


	7. Chapter 7

_Years ago…_

It was only going to be one time. You had meant it. John had meant it too, at least then.

His wife had given him a pass, way back in the beginning. As long as John was discreet and it didn’t affect her and their relationship, he could do what he needed to get whatever or whoever it was out of his system. John had thought the idea laughable, but she had been dead serious. Not ready to start swinging or for him to download Tinder, but serious.

She’d laid it down in simple terms. “If it’s between that and you being sober, I’d rather you not drink.”

They hadn’t discussed it any more after that. Privately, John had wondered exactly if his wife knew about you, but she never let on and he wasn’t crazy enough to ever bring _you_ up to her.

It was only going to be one time. Except for the occasional meeting, John was officially done at 30 Rock, and although you were still working in the building, it was hard as hell to run into you. Hell, he tried, accepting invitations to the most ridiculous pitches, claiming to visit this and that old friend, and most often, going over to 8G to catch up with Seth. By the fifth or sixth time that he goes into Seth’s office and still isn’t able to spot you, John finally gets up the courage to bring up your name and ask how you’re doing.

“Oh, her?” Seth makes a dismissive gesture with his shoulders. “She’s doing good, as far as I can tell anyway. Bit of a tendency to be an office hermit, so Amber’s taken her under her wing. Also Alexi set her up.”

“Set her up on what?” John asks innocently, alarms ringing. 

“As an Avon lady. On a date, what else?”

“A date? Your wife set her up on a date?” There’s a pulsing, thunderous noise playing in John’s ears that wasn’t there before, so loud he can’t hear Seth’s response. His head is busy conjuring images of you placidly smiling at some nameless suit in a dimly lit restaurant and then the scenery changes to your bedroom- the same mess of sheets on your bed and clothes on your floor and you, your hair flying and your eyes closed, the filthy moans John can’t get out of his head spilling from your puckered lips-

“John? Buddy? You okay?”

John is not. He plies more information out of Seth about your date- a lawyer who works with Seth’s wife and that it’s the second time you’re seeing him- all the while completely hating himself for asking one question after another and the realization dawning over Seth’s face when he tries to change the topic but John keeps steering him right back to you.

John hardly gets any work done for the rest of that week. He can’t focus. He can’t sleep. Each time his eyes close- no matter how brief- he’s imagining you, laughing in bed with a blank-faced figure, your eyes heavy-lidded with desire, your back arching from the bed as you lose yourself.

He’s not stupid enough to keep alcohol in the house, but he’s taken to walking around the block to the liquor store and gazing at the familiar-looking labels.

On one of these walks, before John knows it, he’s pacing in front of your building. For how long, he’s lost track but it seems like forever before he gets the courage to go to the call box. It’s no coincidence that he’s there on the same night as your supposed date.

You may not answer. You may already be out on your date.

But it’s your voice that comes out of the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s me. John.”

There’s a pause before your answer comes. “Come on up.”

 _You wouldn’t tell him to come up if there was a guy in there with you, right? Or were you just about ready to go out?_ John argues with himself as he walks up the stairs to your floor.

You open the door with a curious turn of the lips, decidedly not dressed for a date. _Was it a morning date? Perhaps your date took you hiking? That was something people did._ You’re wearing an over-sized shirt John recognizes as a freebie you received from your days on SNL and your hair is piled in a messy updo on the top of your head. In John’s eyes nothing can take away from your loveliness, but it’s hardly something you would wear on a date.

Before John can say anything, you put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say anything! My roommate’s home.” You glance behind you quickly and making sure the coast is clear, pull John by the hand to your bedroom. John closes the door softly, his eyes scanning your room for the second time. It wasn’t any tidier than last. Make-up and rumpled balls of paper were strewn all over your desk. There were shoes and books on your bed. A red dress- a very date-appropriate red dress- hung on a hanger on the door of your open closet. John points it out. “Nice dress.”

“Yeah, you want to try it on?” You sit on your bed against a pile of pillows, still wearing that peculiar half-smile. John tries to keep his eyes on the dress, and not the legs suddenly displayed in front of him.

“I’m just making an observation, complimenting it. It’s just, it’s a really… nice dress. You have great… taste picking it.”

“John-”

“Are you going to wear that dress in the near future?”

“Do you want to stop talking about the fucking dress and tell me why you’re here?” You’re not annoyed or angry. You sit there, waiting patiently for John to answer.

“No. I’m actually not done talking about the dress. Why aren’t you wearing it on your date?”

You let out a laugh, short and acrid. “I canceled on him.”

“Was he just awful?” John asks you eagerly. The strange pressure on his chest he wasn’t aware was there gradually levels. Then he pauses. “Why aren’t you asking me how I know you had a date tonight?”

“It’s a small office, you know. Every person who goes into Seth’s office is watched. But no, he wasn’t awful.” Your smile is sad. “He was actually nice.”

Your answer gnaws at John and his reply is satirical. “What was he, some trust fund pretty boy corporate lawyer with a fancy car?”

“He’s a human rights lawyer. Bit of a pretty boy, but he’s vegan who drives a hybrid.”

“My god!” Eyes stony, John clutches his chest mockingly. “How could you let a catch like that go?”

“How was the wedding?” Seeing John’s expression turn fierce, you quickly add, “Don’t you raise your voice at me Mulaney, my roommate will hear you and will definitely tweet everything.”

John holds both of his hands to his mouth and with a dramatic flourish, collapses on the bed face-first. “Ermargargrhrah,” he mumbles furiously into the mattress.

“Pete showed me all the photos he took at your wedding. It all looked really nice.” Your voice suggested you thought otherwise. “How was the honeymoon?”

John lifts his head. “Honey, do you really want me to answer that?”

“I didn’t expect to have the opportunity to ask it. You got married. I did what I was supposed to do and left you alone. Why do you keep showing up at my work?”

“Were you going out of your way to avoid me when I came into the office?”

Your face confirmed it. “You’re not holding up your end of the deal John.”

“I don’t remember signing that treaty.”

“Be serious, would you? It’s not fair to keep seeking me out. To me or to… _her_.” You can’t think of John’s wife without guilt washing over you. “I’m not a cruel person you know. I don’t want to do that to her again.”

John sits up, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “What if she’s okay with it?”

“Sure she is.” You scoff. Seeing that John isn’t lying, you almost start laughing. “The wholesome Catholic boy is in an open marriage?” His eyes looked over to you in a silent question. You shake your head furiously. “What do you expect me to do here? Do you think I’ll sleep with you again just because your wife gives you permission?”

“Of course not!”

“Because I won’t! Just because she’s given you her permission to fuck someone else doesn’t mean it’s going to be me and it doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.” Your voice was rising, and two pointed blows from the other side of the wall reminds you of your roommate still in the next room. You groan and hug a pillow to your middle, falling to your side on the mattress.

John mimics you, rolling to lay beside you, head leaning on a raised forearm.

You both lay there for a long time. You stare up at the ceiling in contemplation, still holding your pillow close to you. John watches you, noting how your hair waves slightly at your temple and how you flex your fingers when you’re thinking and- and _god_ you become more beautiful every single time that he sees you.

“I can’t watch Netflix anymore.”

John is startled out of his reverie. “What?”

“I can’t watch Netflix because of you anymore. Your face always pops up in my recommendations.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“I mean, congratulations on the Netflix money and everything but it sucks always seeing your face.”

“Wow.” John lets out a puff of air and it sends strands of your hair flying. “I very much apologize for subjecting you to my face.”

You cast a glance at him. “Your face isn’t that bad.”

“Ooh, I’m touched.” John’s tone is sardonic, but there’s a slight flush in his cheeks. You almost express a true smile when you see it.

“I don’t know why you won’t acknowledge you’re good-looking.”

“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a silly turtleneck and black stockings like it was slam poetry night but you were just so goddamn stunning and my mind went blank,” John shoots back. “I was useless to Lorne, I couldn’t think for the rest of the day. He actually sent me home.”

“Is that the reason why you keep coming back here?”

“No.” John smiles. “I keep coming back here because I miss the shitton of unfunny memes you used to text me no matter how many times I told you I’m too old for that shit. I miss crashing off-Broadway shows with you. I miss you bursting into my office because you had to show me some creepy murder investigation podcast you’d just found that I had to listen to. It’s also because you I can’t stop thinking about how you feel and how you smell and how you sound and how you taste.”

Your throat has gone dry. “Do you think I’ll let you just because you’ve said all that?”

“The fact that you haven’t kicked me out yet makes me a little hopeful.” John’s fingers trail down your arm and open palm. When you don’t object, his hand becomes more bold, pushing your shirt up your stomach and revealing your panties. “You sure you don’t have a date waiting for you somewhere?”

“Do my panties suggest I have a date on standby, Mulaney?”

“I’m actually not fluent in panty speak.” But he knew where to touch you. John’s fingers are rubbing the damp spot on your panties, over the cleft, the friction putting a feather-light pressure on your clit.

“Take it off then,” you ask him, voice soft.

John acquiesces, sweeping your panties to the side. You let out a hiss when he plunges a finger into you in a slow rhythm. John takes hold of your cheek, tilting his head down to you. This- _this_ \- was what he really missed, he thinks when your lips crash together. John’s mouth moves desperately. Your kiss is intoxicating, more potent than any liquor he could ever drink.

“God,” you gasp when he rears his head back. Your body yearned for more. “I need you inside me now. Please John.”

He wiggles out of his pants while you fumble for a condom from your bedstand. You have to take great care not to cry out when he thrusts into you and muffle his grunts with your lips.

John’s moves are sound, savoring each stroke and the sensation of you contracting around him. He kisses you deeply, hardly breaking the kiss even when you’re nearly out of breath. “I’ll pass out if you keep doing that,” you warn him, but you’re smiling. John loves your smile.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time or a two-time thing or even a three-time thing, okay?” He rolls his hips, inciting a delicious moan from you.

“Yes!” Your voice is strangled. Your eyes are closed. You would say yes to anything now. You’re lost in the feeling of what he’s doing to you.

“We’ll make it work,” John mutters, mostly to himself. He bends down to meet your lips again. You’re slipping, coming apart all around him. You pull John into you, and he falls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this reveals a lot of new information, but it was very enjoyable to write.


	8. Chapter 8

“Boring. Doesn’t seem to have an original thought in her head. She contributed nothing to the dinner conversation. I’m not convinced she’s not putting on the humble ingénue act.” Scarlett punctuates her aspersions with an eye roll. “Also, are you sure she’s not fucking Pete Davidson?

“I asked her and she says she’s not.”

“Hmm. Thought I detected a weird vibe there.” Scarlett leans in closer. “You haven’t fucked her yet either.” It’s not a question.

Chris takes a sip of his beer and shrugs his shoulder. “Taking it slow. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s not your style.” She smirks, knowing well enough of that herself. He and Scarlett have known each other for a long time and she’s one of his best friends now, but when they were younger she had been extremely familiar with his dating habits. “Don’t tell me something corny like she’s worth waiting for.”

Chris smiles, thinking of you. “She is beautiful though, isn’t she?” Per his request for a sexy selfie last night, you had obliged with a photo of you ready for bed in prim and practical pajamas, your hair wrapped in a towel and a toothbrush sticking out of your mouth.

Scarlett sniffs indifferently. “Yes. But beautiful shouldn’t be enough for you. There’s a lot of beautiful out there for you to play around with if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Oh Scar, I told you I’m not looking for just play anymore. I’m almost forty. You have a daughter, you know what I mean.”

“I love her, but don’t forget about the two ex-husbands.”

“Soon to be a third future ex-husband.” Chris smirks. “What does Colin think?”

“You actually care?” Scarlett raises a skeptical eyebrow, knowing what Chris thought of her fiancé, but discloses Colin’s opinion anyway. “That she’s quiet and timid and shrinks away if you merely look at her. I mean it Chris, that’s not the type for you. Tell me, how did you even convince her to go along with the _People Magazine_ crawl?” Chris replies with a guilty wince. Scarlett’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god you little asshole, you haven’t told her.”

“Megan went ahead first without telling me,” Chris explains, referring to his publicist. “But… I have signed off on everything else since.”

“You’re not even going to tell her? What a dick move, Evans.” Despite her verbal admonishment, Scarlett seems mildly impressed. “What’s next, you’re going to bring her home and a photographer will take pictures of her breaking bread with your mother through the kitchen window?”

“She’ll get the PR treatment anyway,” Chris defends himself. “At least this way, she’s protected and left alone. Of course I’ll tell her everything later when it gets to that point.”

" _If_ it gets to that point.”

Scarlett continues to eye him in a way that makes Chris shift uncomfortably. “It’s better this way.”

He leaves Scarlett’s apartment feeling a bit more guilty than when he arrived. Alone, at home, he considers deleting your messages and contact information from his phone. He still hadn’t done so later in the afternoon when he boards his flight for New York. Instead, he texts you to ask what you were in the mood for for dinner after the show.

Chris tries to get in early to see you before the show starts, but as usual his agent has overbooked him for the day. Upon getting to the studio Chris is immediately wrangled by a tense producer and rushed to makeup and prep. When they bring him out, Chris’s eyes are on the audience, scanning for you.

The interview starts normally enough. One of the reasons he’d agreed to interview with Seth Meyers is that he knows from prior experience Seth wasn’t a tricky interviewer. Chris had scanned the publicist-approved interview questions in his dressing room prior to going on but gave it no serious thought, convinced that Seth wouldn’t ask him anything that required serious thought. So, Chris is a bit thrown when Seth asks him about his dating life.

“So you’re currently not seeing anyone right now?” The questions leaves Seth’s mouth at the same time Chris finally finds your face in the upper deck of the crowd. Even with the distance, Chris notices how your brows furrow at Seth’s line of questioning.

He should answer no, but he can’t help himself. “I did meet someone not too long ago.”

“Tell us about her,” Seth asks with a wicked grin. Mentally, Chris thinks about how long his publicist will place an embargo on NBC. But you’re mortified, and Chris decides to cut it off before it gets any worse.

He shakes his head with his best genial smile. “It’s a little early and out of respect for her, I don’t really want to say much more than that. But she might be out there watching this, and if she’s listening-” Chris braves a brief, direct glance at you - “I _am_ thinking about you.”

You disappear after that and Chris wonders how he’ll make amends. Right after his segment is over, Chris asks a producer for directions to your office.

He’s taken aback when he finds you’re not alone. “What’s going on in here?” Chris asks, looking between you and John Mulaney. You try to smile, but even after just the short amount of time he’s known you Chris already has a handle on how awful you are at hiding your feelings and how obviously distressed you are now. “Are you okay?”

“Of course she is, just look at her,” John answers for you. His voice held a strange tilt. He shakes Chris’s hand gregariously. “Great interview by the way, man. It’s nice seeing you again. We’ll, um, pick this up later, yeah?” Tossing a last look at you, he walks briskly out of the office.

Chris turns to you again after John leaves. “Really, are you okay? What was that?”

You let out an odd, short laugh. “Please don’t ask me any questions about that now. Can we just get out of here?”

Chris leads you to a rental car waiting for him outside the building. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks you.

“I don’t know.” You’re looking out the window. “How long are you here this time?”

“I fly out in the morning.”

“That’s not a long time.”

“No. But this time I’m leaving in the late morning instead of first thing,” Chris jokes. He puts his hand atop yours on the center armrest. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but when can we talk about that?”

Your smirk is more than a touch bitter. “Not yet. I’d like to put off that conversation for as long as possible.”

“Okay. But we will,” he warns you.

“Where are you flying tomorrow?” you ask him instead.

“Home.”

“Massachusetts?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come?”

Bringing you home was one thing that never, ever crossed his mind. Chris knows he would never answer yes. But you’re staring at him, and you’re desperate for an escape and Chris wants to be alone with you and he hears the agreement slip from his mouth.

You didn’t even want to stop at your apartment for your things, insisting on going straight to the airport. You’re grateful that you don’t have to speak much. On the drive over, Chris calls his agent about changing his flight and getting you the seat beside him. You make a fuss when Chris pays for your airplane ticket, but he waves off your arguments and explains there was always an abundance of photographers that lurked in JFK.

The privacy of the first class cabin was not its only perk. You’re well into your second drink by the time the plane takes off, and the liquor makes you much chattier. The seats are roomy and comfortable, but you lift the divider in between, cozying closer to Chris and leaning your head on his shoulder. “Why are you doing all this?” you murmur.

Pleasantly surprised by the closeness, Chris huddles closer. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you have to work this hard to sleep with someone. You didn’t have to fly me to Boston.”

“I hadn’t planned on it. You just asked.”

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

“I’m only finding this out gradually, but you’re hard to say no to.” Chris chucks you on the chin playfully. He finds your face mesmerizing up close and can’t stop himself from running his fingers on the edges of your jawline.

You grin. “I’ve never been here before. Will you take me to see the Liberty Bell?”

Chris lets out a full belly laugh. “Oh no, no, no. We are staying far away from that frozen tundra of a tourist hellhole and I’m going to keep you in my house all weekend to myself.”

Your cheeks are pink, a combination of drink and an acknowledgment of what Chris is hinting at. Too quickly, you change the subject to music, and Chris gives you the other half of his AirPods so you can hear what he’s listening to.

“You have old man tastes,” you tease him, scrolling through his playlist. “Eric Clapton?”

“Fine, show me your oh-so-superior choices.” Chris shoots back, and you hand him your phone. Chris’s nose wrinkles while he looks over the screen. “There’s way more Ariana Grande here than I expected-” A new text alert on your phone stops him mid-sentence. The name John Mulaney flashed on the text notification.

Chris doesn’t get the chance to read the text, even unintentionally. You must have sensed Chris saw something he shouldn’t have, and you snatch your phone back from his grasp. “It’s nothing,” you snap. You read the text for your eyes only, and Chris notes that you don’t reply.

Chris decides not to press the matter for now and orders a drink for himself when you ask the stewardess for a refill. The flight from JFK to Logan takes an hour, and Chris’s own car waits for him at the airport valet. You regret not stopping at home when the cold Massachusetts weather sets in for you, wishing you’d worn more than a wool jacket. You’re grateful when Chris gallantly gives you his own jacket for another layer and waves away your refusals, claiming that he was used to the cold.

The drive to his house outside of Boston takes another half hour. Chris’s car is a fuel-efficient sedan, not an expensive sports car like you expected. You take in your first sight of the Boston skyline as you sail past downtown. Your eyes are glued to the view in awe. Chris’s eyes drift to you often while he drives.

It’s past midnight now, and the late hour combined with the drinks you’ve consumed takes its effect. You fall asleep during the drive. Chris waits until the last possible minute to wake you up, tapping you gently on the shoulder. “I can carry you in if you’d like.” He’s smiling down at you when you open your eyes. You shake your head, but take his hand to step out of the car.

This home was a stark difference to his New York apartment. It was less tidy and definitely felt more lived in. Personal touches- you lingered on family and childhood photos of Chris and memorabilia from his work and travels. But none of it affected you nearly as much as Chris’s dog excitedly propelling into your arms, almost knocking you off your feet. _“Dodger!”_ Chris yelled as the mixed boxer jumped into your unready grip. Chris wraps his arms around your shoulders to steady you. “I am so sorry. Dodger, you handsy little bastard-”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, petting Dodger in delight. “You sure know how to wake up someone around here.”

You freshen up in a downstairs bathroom, changing into a robe Chris kept for guests while he shut Dodger into a separate room. It’s an enormous home and you look around curiously while you wait for Chris to come back. He reappears, also having changed into a shirt and sweatpants. “I thought you’d join me upstairs.”

“It feels like I’m invading your space,” you confess. “Your home is beautiful.”

“I like it too. It’s not far from where I grew up, that’s the best part about it. My mom and my sister’s houses are about twenty minutes away. I’m happiest when I’m here.” Chris coughs. He rubs the back of his neck. He didn’t think he’d say that much to you now. “You must be tired. Come on, let me show you where you can sleep.”

“I’m not that tired now. Show me around?”

A corner of his lips turn up. “Sure.” Chris holds your hand and leads you from room to room. He enjoys the sensation of your small hand wrapped in his, enjoys seeing your eyes wandering around each new space. It wasn’t just your beauty that Chris relishes in watching. You brought light into each space you came into, found something curious about each object you came into contact with. It was a thrill just to watch the changing expressions on your face.

It’s too cold to go outside, but from the upstairs loft you peer through the window at his backyard and the pool below. “It’s heated if you want to take a dip,” Chris says.

“I have a hard time not jumping into every pool I see. I love everything about water. I’ve liked living in New York, but I always wanted to be closer to the ocean.” The still blue of the pool reflects on your face. Chris can’t look away.

You make a little yawn and he guides you into one of his spare bedrooms next. “You can sleep in here if you’d like.”

“Where’s your room?”

“Just across.” Chris points his thumb over his shoulder.

You arch an eyebrow, an impish smirk forming on your lips. “Are you against sharing?”

“No-no,” Chris smiles sheepishly. “I am worried you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m very lightly buzzed.” You walk past him, across the hallway into the master bedroom. At the doorway, you glance back at him from behind your shoulder. “Coming?”

Chris follows you, mindfully aware of the stirring in his crotch at your question. He finds you resting on his bed, hands folded in your lap serenely. “My god,” you sigh. “This is the biggest, most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in. I honestly might never get up.”

He chuckles. “Not the worst thing that could happen.” Chris falls on the space next to you on the bed, face first.

“Does Dodger sleep with you in bed?”

“If I can’t find anyone else to share with, sure.” Your skin is near, but Chris’s hands stay at his sides.

You sit up and cock your head to the side with an odd gaze. “Are you really okay with me being here?”

“Of course.”

“I’m on your bed with practically nothing on, Chris. You told me you wanted me on the first night we met. So why won’t you touch me now?”

Chris speaks slowly. “I want to make sure… that you want this too. You said you didn’t want casual.”

“Oh.” Your face clearly stated you hadn’t expected for him to listen to you.

Chris can't contain his next question. “I want to talk now. What’s going on between you and Mulaney, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what's going to happen in the next part of this, but I've missed writing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really just want to thank all who have read, commented, left a kudos, etc. You've all made this such a thrill to write.

**Years ago…**

The thing is, you’re really just waiting for John to get bored.

There weren’t any signs of it happening yet- he replies to your text messages way faster than you reply to his, for example- but you were preparing just in case. Any minute now, he’d tell you that it was too late for him to come over, he was too busy, or maybe he’ll get smart and just ghost you. You lie awake for too long some nights, always on the nights when John was right in bed next to you, speculating just when he’d decide to leave your life.

But as long as he wasn’t touring or working outside of New York, you saw John at least once a week. When you’re finally able to afford an apartment without a roommate he begins coming over more frequently, announcing his arrival by messaging you and asking what you were planning on making for dinner. It didn’t always end in sex either. Okay, so more often than not dinner ended with him pulling you onto his lap or you riding his face during Investigation Discovery but still, it’s oddly… domestic. Almost like having a real boyfriend. 

But John is not your boyfriend. And you’re not his girlfriend or wife. It’s an affair, and you’re the dirty mistress, à la McSteamy because you weren’t even Meredith Grey who didn’t know about the wife at the beginning of the relationship. Pete Davidson sat you down and showed you the damn wedding photos, definitely not knowing the groom had given you an orgasm on your kitchen counter two weeks beforehand.

“Are you even watching this?” You continue to stare ahead, eyes unfocused. “Hey.” John kicks you out of your reveries by smacking you on the side of the head with a cushion. “You’re thinking too much. Stop it or I’ll change the channel to basketball.”

“No!” On the TV, the darkly handsome, brooding gentleman in a cravat makes an anguished declaration of love to the lively, idealistic protagonist, her bosom heaving in a too-tight bodice. John’s not inclined towards period dramas, but you’re enthralled. Also, it was your turn to pick what to watch and you weren’t always in the mood for the forensics of another husband dismembering his naggy wife.

Tapping his socks impatiently on the carpet, John decides to find his own amusement. You laid your head on his chest while you watched and his hands start to wander through your hair, twirling strands around his fingers. You pay him no mind, seemily glued to the smoldering romantic hero onscreen. Not getting the response he’s hoping for, John begins humming Paula Cole's iconic "I Don't Wanna Wait"- badly- and after a minute or so, you tip your head up to face him. “Am I not giving you enough attention?”

“You’ve never given me enough attention, have you met me? Sorry to interrupt your time with Mr. Darcy-”

“This is not even Jane Austen!”

“This is the straightest white male I will ever get, but you really can’t expect me to tell the difference between period pieces.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, you have a lot of potential. Now shush.” You put a finger to your lips, eyes returning back to the TV.

You must have dozed off because when you open your eyes again, Richard Armitage is locking lips with Margaret Hale and the credits have started to roll on the screen. John is playing a game on his phone and the sunlight beaming through the curtains earlier have dimmed to night. John glances down and catching your eye, smiles. “Oh good, I’ve been needing to pee for like twenty minutes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” You sit up straight and rub your eyes. “Why didn’t you change the show?”

John shrugs. “In case you woke up, I didn’t want you to be upset I’d changed it. Also, I kinda got into Mr. Thornton’s dreamy eyes.”

Your laughter is cut short by spotting the time on your phone screen. “My god, is it really that late? Don’t you have to go… home?” You hate asking him that question, hate to think that someone else is waiting for him.

John shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fine.” He breaks the sullen silence that always comes about when either of you approach the topic of his marriage. “Can we go actually lay down though, my arm is a little numb from your fat head lying on it for two hours. Quit it!” You’ve begun hitting him with a cushion.

He follows you into the bathroom to get ready for bed, sitting on the toilet seat and watching you wash your face and floss. You hand John your toothbrush when you’ve finished and John makes a face. “Dude, seriously? Based on what you’ve done in my mouth you cannot be _that_ disgusted by my toothbrush.”

“It’s way grosser when you put it that way.”

You’ve changed into a nightie and are already tucked into bed when John comes out of the bathroom just in his shirt and boxers. He’s spent the night before, but all indications from earlier were that this wouldn’t be one of those nights. 

Your surprise must have shown in your face. “I don’t want to leave,” John tells you simply. You nod, a sudden hammering in your chest. John slides under the covers next to you. He recognizes the hungry look in your eyes immediately. “You have to wake up early for work,” he reminds you.

“I took a nap.” You capture his lips without challenge, feeling the corners of his mouth turning up at your caresses. You run your hands along his upper arms, squeezing the skin there. “You’ve been working on the biceps, Mulaney. I’m impressed.”

You’re always curiously amused by how positive comments affect John, who’s so unwilling to accept a compliment. Predictably he snorts at your remark, then unexpectedly flips you on the bed, kneeling over you. John fingers the lacy hemming on your gown. “You dress like a hobo to bed. Is this new?”

“No, I’ve had this for ages.” You’re lying through your teeth.

“Lies. You totally bought and wore this just for me.”

“I did not! Why would I?” 

John grins smugly. “Not going to lie, you’re kind of making me feel like a big deal right now.” His hand has disappeared under your gown and slipped into your panties, already slick with your wetness. “The effort is appreciated Kitten, but frankly I’d do you whether you wear lingerie or a banana hammock.”

“What a girl always dreams of hearing. Just fuck me already.”

“Done.” John bundles your nightie up to your waist and crawls down to the foot of your bed. His mouth is hot and it’s on you, and every smart thing you can think of retorting dies in your head. His tongue is unrelenting on your clit and you’re ready to come loose when John raises his head.

“No, I want to feel you when you cum.” You nearly do when John enters you, pressing himself into you urgently. Your skin vibrates where he touches you. John kisses you on the lips and his fingers stroke your clit when you orgasm. He’s saying something to you, but you’re too caught up in the throes of your own pleasure and his words are muffled against your lips and your tongue and John can’t bring himself to say that to you again.

You’re turning down lunches and happy hours and dates to be with John, cancelling plans for him when he gets back into town early or becomes available at the last minute unexpectedly. So when Seth invites you to a show headlined by Andy Samberg’s wife with him and Alexi, tacitly reminding you of how many times you’ve bailed on work outings, you agree.

You’re only able to see John within the confines of your apartment, so it’s a bit of a shock when you see him and Andy and Joanna Newsom approaching you and the Meyerses. He greets you in a friendly, unfamiliar manner, and although you respond in kind a numbness sets over your chest and shoulders at his feigned politeness.

You’re sitting off to the side when a pink mixture in a martini glass appears in front of you with a flourish. “Thought you’d like something,” John tells you casually. You nod your thanks at him and resume your post. John goes to stand with Andy and Seth.

The lights dim as the show starts. Joanna Newsom is an incredible performer, but you kept looking over at her husband, fascinated by his unabashed awe. Andy is so openly proud and in love with his wife that looking at him watching her almost feels invasive for you. Your eyes meet with John’s, and he follows your line of sight knowingly. You feel an arm snaking around your waist, and look up to see that John has fallen into step beside you. He smiles, and furtively plants a kiss on your hair. But it only lasts a moment before John slinks away again, away from you.

You’d never been as jealous of any woman as you were jealous of Joanna when the song ended and Andy cheered and whistled at her from the crowd, showing his love for all to see.

The only thing you and John don’t talk about is _her_. If John feels any guilt, he’s never told you about it and neither of you bring it up. You know you should feel bad and you were raised to think badly about women like you who knowingly conducted affairs but but frankly you’re too damn happy being with John to have time to think about his brilliant, beautiful wife. Too happy and too full of _everything_.

It stumbles out of you when John is leaving one day. You have a hard time waking up in the mornings and when he leaves you’re usually still in bed. However, this morning you sit up in bed, watching him get dressed, your face quiet and pensive. John doesn’t comment, but throws you curious little glances as he gets ready.

As he did every time before he was about to leave, John leans down and kisses you on your temple with a soft “Bye, honey,” and then he’d leave and lock your door behind him. However, this morning you walk him to the door, still clutching your blanket protectively around your shoulders. John grins and kisses you again at the doorway, on the lips this time. “What did I do to warrant a personal escort?”

“I…” The words halt in your throat. Your mouth feels dry, but you know the words already. You haven’t felt this way before with anyone, but you’re been certain of how you’ve felt for him now for a very long time. “Have a good day. I- I love you.” You don’t give John a chance to react, too scared of what he’ll say back to you. You see his stunned face for only a moment before you close the door and fall against it, crumbling to the floor.

You might have just lived like this forever- somewhat content- if it wasn’t for Seth Fucking Meyers.

You had been friendly with Seth during your days on _SNL_ , but had gotten closer while working with him on _Late Night_. Seth didn’t just take an interest in you professionally, but also personally. You’d gotten to know his wife and their children. He could and did take on the stern boss role to oversharing colleague to overprotective brother figure.   
He’s all three personalities at once when he calls you into his office one day. You didn’t expect anything amiss, until he closes the door and asks you to take a seat. Closed door conversations with Seth were never good.

“I feel very uncomfortable bringing this up,” Seth starts, his hand folded on the desk in front of him, “and I am totally cool with you storming out of here in fury in a few seconds because this is so not my territory. Not even close. Like, five million football fields I should not be giving you any advice on this.”

“Spit it out, Meyers.”

“I will! I… okay, you know that I care about you and value your happiness not just as an employee but also as a friend.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re in love with me, or are you firing me?”

“No, no, no, no! Oh gosh, no. And gross, no. I am so sorry. I’ll get straight to it. Okay, it’s just- I know about you and John and I think someone needs to tell you this isn’t going to end well.” It’s out there now, and Seth’s tone grows more steady. “It’s not going to end well,” he repeats. “For you or for John. But you know that already, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the flashbacks. We're almost at the finish line. How do you *want* it to end?


End file.
